BlackBird
by SlumsOfEden
Summary: "Blackbird, fly. Blackbird, fly. Into the light or dark black night." Matthew comes back into contact with his father Arthur after 3 years, Only to see how far his father has fallen. reviews are welcome, first posted story.
1. With A little Help From My Friends

A/n First ever posted fic. :3 there will be boy on boy love in this, amongst other unwholesome things. Don't like don't read. There will be mature themes in this such as the usage of drugs for recreational usage (which I do not advocate) and other serious themes. Read at your on risk.

*bows* I sincerely hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I Do NOT own any of the songs used in the story. I also do NOT own Hetalia. Or much of anything really, except maybe a ramen cup and some Pocky.

Arthur Kirkland lay un-moving as the rays of dawn graciously cast  
>themselves through the slits and cracks of the blinds, exposing this<br>light to travel and wander, meandering over the different bumps and  
>shapes of furniture and people and trash.<p>

His heart pounded. He dare not open his eyes, grasping around for his  
>surroundings by his other senses.<p>

His head ached and throbbed, his pulse livid in his body, blood  
>rushing through his aching form as if to scold him for pushing himself<br>past his limits for yet another night. He cringed, relaxing to feel  
>past the immediate discomfort. He was face-down, he was certain, on<br>the floor which was hard and abrasive, yet caressed him with it's soft  
>brittle fibers and lay firm beneath him, his aching body left to<br>resent the sting of it's hard and flat nature. The carpet pressed  
>against the flesh of his arms, chest, stomach, and feet. With this he<br>came to realize not that he had lost his shirt, shoes, and socks, but  
>rather he had managed to keep on his very tight denim trousers.<p>

Along with the softness, he realised that the carpet was damp around  
>him, in the most undesirable way- right by his face. It was then his<br>sense of smell slapped him, the putrid smell of bile filling his  
>nostrils enough to make him sick again. His stomach churned, but he<br>had nothing left to throw up. He had passed out in his own acidic  
>vomit.<p>

The room was silent save for the thrum of the world outside the  
>window, and the faint sounds of breathing and snoring, alerting him<br>that he was not alone in this room.

*Flashback*  
>Arthur was alone with his friends before the real party even started.<br>The trio of males sat across from him as a record scratched an old  
>familiar melody delicately in the background. Arthur took a hit off of<br>whatever-the-hell-it-was he was smoking, laughing as his head clouded  
>over from the inside, vision fogging slightly before everything became<br>incredibly clear. He was sitting with his three best friends, the only  
>people, he knew, that truly gave a rats ass he was living. He pondered<br>their closeness as Gilbert took a long hit, making O's with the smoke  
>and his lips.<p>

He cocked his head. "What would you think if I sang out of tune would  
>you stand up and walk out on me?" Antonio snorted, nodding vigorously.<br>Gil muttered a "ja" through his glazed over, yet sarcastic smile.  
>Francis merely smirked, eyebrow cocked, intense listening skills<br>playing themselves through. He always listened like this. Especially  
>when he was high.<p>

"No, really. Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song," he winked,  
>meaning it for Francis. He rarely gave a damn about image and being<br>proper when he felt this damn good. "And I'll try not to sing out of  
>key." He promised, Gilbert cracking up as if it were the funniest<br>thing he'd ever heard, Arthur laughing along with the group as he  
>added in earnestly, yet oh so casually: "Oh I get by with a little<br>help from my friends." Antonio aw'ed appreciatively. Francis gave his  
>hand an appreciative across the coffee table, and Gilbert pretended to<br>gag as if he weren't high enough to be touched by the statement, even  
>though they all knew deep down he was both touched and higher than a<br>kite.

Arthur took another hit, vocalising the euphoria it gave with a little  
>hum. "Mm,I get high with a little help from my friends," they all<br>shared a knowing nod. Arthur was far more gone than the three of them.

"Mm, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends." Try what? They  
>all didn't know, but who cared really. They were all swimming in a<br>glazed reality- everything was sugar coated. They hardly had to try  
>but everything just felt so right/.

Francis batted his eye-lashes, either pretending to be intrigued, or  
>as far gone with Arthur into this deep rant about friendship. And God<br>it had been a while since they last made love. At least a week, and  
>Arthur was so much more fun when they were high, he gave in so easily.<br>Though it was always a fun game to play when he was sober.  
>The thought of being sober made Francis wither, just a bit, so he took<br>another hit.

Gilbert smirked, watching Francis' reaction before asking, "do you anybody?"

Arthur blushed, "I need some body to love." He smiled a bit bashfully.  
>He felt absolutely wonderful.<p>

Antonio gave a knowing smile, cocking his own eyebrow. "Could it be anybody~?"

Arthur shrugged, brushing off the question simply. "I want some body to love."

He looked down for a moment trapped in the memories of a past that  
>seemed so distant to him at that moment, wiping away a tear before<br>taking another long deep hit.

"What do I do when my love is away?" He sighed, remembering.

Francis noticed the shadows in his eyes, wondering how to work this in  
>his advantage. He moved to sit beside him, winking at his friends as<br>he laced their fingers."Does it worry you to be alone?" He asks.

Arthur did not respond, not thinking about the question as he enjoyed  
>the warmth by his side, to high to even care who it was. "How do I<br>feel by the end of the day?"

Francis stroked the side of his face. No fight as he expects."Are you  
>sad because you're on your own?" He whispered, standing because this<br>pre-party is nearly over for the group. He was about to enjoy his own  
>after-pre-party-party.<p>

Arthur grinned, something most were unaccustomed to when seeing him in  
>their company. "No, I get by with a little help from my friends,"<br>Francis lead him away to his bedroom, whispering something about  
>stronger stuff in there, more potent.<p>

"Mmm, get high with a little help from my friends," Arthur winked. He  
>knew where this was leading to, and he felt too good to deny it. If<br>he'd regret it in the morning, chances are it would make one hell of a  
>night (whether he could remember it or not.)<p>

Francis forced him against the wall once the door was closed."Mm,  
>gonna to try with a little help from my friends."<p>

Francis smirked placing his cheek against Arthur's own and whispering,  
>breath hot enough to make Arthur shiver, senses heightened to his<br>already sensitive ears, "do you need any body?"

Arthur bit his lip feeling the words travel down his spine to his own  
>groin. "I need some body to love."<p>

Francis pulled away, looking intensely into Arthur's eyes, loving the  
>way he was malleable in the Parisian's own hands. "Could it be<br>anybody?"

Arthur fisted the back of Francis' hair, drawing him closer. "I want  
>somebody to love."<p>

*end flashback*

And that was all he could recollect, cutting off more than half of the  
>night. He was grateful that he had even bothered to put his trousers<br>back on, wondering now if they were in fact his own. He could place a  
>few more moments amongst the party, asking people if they believed in<br>love at first sight, and more proclamations of his friendship and how  
>his friends would kill him with how good he felt, but he'd be damned<br>if that way out wouldn't be the best thing in his life.

He sighed, collecting himself for a moment before rolling onto his  
>back, groaning with the aches as he forced himself to sit up, holding<br>his forehead as he felt himself grow dizzy. Then one eye at a time he  
>forced himself to look, blinking rapidly with the blazing light around<br>him, arms wrapped around himself as a few tears of frustration fell,  
>waiting for his eyes to adjust to the harsh light.<p>

Once his eyes managed to adjust he managed to find his current  
>surroundings familiar. In fact he was here almost every week, at<br>least. It the same apartment from before. Good to know he had most  
>likely stayed here.<p>

The room was lit by only the morning sun, the coffee table broken from  
>whatever happened the night before, with glasses shattered beside it.<br>It was coated in a film of smoke and what appeared to be chalk if one  
>was unaware of the nights proceedings. The floor was littered with<br>empty cans, dirty needles, random pieces of clothing (sometimes whole,  
>other times ripped to shreds) the butts of cigarettes and a random<br>stranger here and there in similar positions as Arthur.

There was a naked couple, entangled together on the couch. Arthur  
>vaguely remembered the two men coming to the party with women escorts<br>but thought nothing of it as he pulled an extra rug over his puke  
>stain. He picked up a discarded shirt-<p>

'Pink Floyd... I don't have this one...'

-figuring he'd make a trade with a sleeping stranger. His group of  
>friends lived in the crummy apartment right across from his anyway.<br>The lace was run-down, a bloodstain on the wall covered up by  
>Antonio's turtle tank, now turtle-less Arthur found himself noticing.<p>

He tip-toed out the door into the hall walking into his own apartment  
>which he never kept locked. He had nothing worth stealing anyway, and<br>if he had such items he was a master when it came to hiding them-  
>sometimes right under the bloody floor boards.<p>

He placed his hand on the doorknob, jolting with the cold brass  
>traveling up through the inside of his arm- a feeling he enjoyed more<br>than he probably have ought to. He felt a small, hollow smirk touching  
>the corner of his lip. He turned the handle to the right, holding<br>every intention of simply passing back out in his own moth-eaten  
>sheets and stained pillow.<p>

He opened the door, stepping inside his living room, it barren save  
>fore the futon and old television set, an old beaten coffee table and<br>well-worn book-shelf. The Kitchen was attached to the living room,  
>visible. With a little counter separating the rooms. A cobweb danced<br>in the corner, close to an AC vent.

Had he been holding something, surely he would have dropped it, breath  
>knocked out of him by the sight before him, heart stopping, and eyes<br>widening. He tried to speak but no words would come, loss of air too  
>great.<p>

"D-dad. It's good to see you..."


	2. yesterday

Arthur felt his heart start back up again, slamming into his chest harshly with each pump. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but his throat was too sore and constricted, and his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. He cleared his throat, wincing with the pain before uttering the only name provided by his hazy mind.

"A-Alfred?" He felt a light feeling bubble up from the inside-out. The boy's face, on the other hand, went from that hopeful glimmer into a crest-fallen disappointment painting the canvas of his face. He sighed, shaking his head.

"I-It's Matt, Dad... A-Al is...g-gone... Remember?" He said the words gently as he led the man to his own futon, waiting for the words to sink in. He braced himself for the fit of raging denial the Brit was sure to deliver, keeping a safe distance, but still being close enough to console him.

The explosion, however, did not occur. Arthur's brow furrowed, disbelief crossing his features as he inhaled, ready to reply with distrust in his tone. How dare he imply that he was unaware of something of such importance, let alone something pertaining to his own beloved son? He blinked rapidly as a feeling of familiarity coursed through him, however. He sighed, mind clearing enough for him to remember. He winced, breathing heavier as the truth was recalled to life.

"Right... I remember." His eyes watered, but he willed away the tears. His head was reeling, from the after-effects of his party or the sudden shock to his system of seeing his son once again, he was not sure of which. He stood, regretting, immediately as he felt his head rush and the walls spin, losing balance momentarily before catching himself. He inhaled the stale apartment air, letting himself regain balance.

"Tea?" He offered needing some for himself. Matthew nodded his head, keeping his eyes cast downward on a stain in the carpet, vaguely wondering what it was from before coming to the conclusion that he would be better off not knowing.

Arthur's hands trembled. His whole body would begin to shiver at times, always random but not for very long. Perhaps it was the chill of the apartment, or his frail brittle frame. He was always this weak the Morning After anyway.

It bothered him that he was so unprepared for this visit, having still not had a shower, coated in the grime of the activities of the night before. It also had bothered him that this boy was his guest, yet for the life of him he could not remember the lad's full name, though he may have mentioned it moments ago, and had once called this boy "son".

Matthew noticed the shaking, worried for his father's well-being. He walked the short distance to the kitchen-area, taking the kettle out of Arthur's shaking hands, and stabilizing the man's wobbling frame. "Would you mind too much if I made it, Dad?" He gave an encouraging smile.

Arthur shook his head, bracing through the new bought of dizziness by gripping the counter for balance until his knuckles were white. "You are my guest, unexpected as you are. I'm already being a poor host as it is." He sighed. "I hope you don't mind your tea black, I haven't anything else."

Matthew helped to steady his father, gently setting the kettle down. "I insist Dad. Really." His smile grew all the more reassuring as he steered his father back to the futon. He blushed. "And I was here earlier. Um... I hope you don't mind but I went grocery shopping while you were out."

It was now Arthur's turn to blush. "How long have you been here?" The boy obviously had a good idea of his actions the evening prior. This situation was both shocking and embarrassing for each.

"Um... I hope you don't mind," he repeated, "but I stayed on your futon last night. I thought you might come home any minute and I just needed to see you, Dad. He fumbled with his hands before reaching for the kettle. He adjusted the stove. "I got pancake mix as well so... I can make that too." He tried desperately to fill the dead space suffocating them both.

"Sure, um..."  
>"I'm Matt Dad."<br>"Right, Matthew. I knew that, of course!" He gave an uncomfortable smile. "But you really needn't do so now. I'm going to go get, uh, cleaned up a bit. Do forgive me and make yourself at home." Matthew nodded turning to get mugs from the cupboard, searching for one that was not cracked. Arthur went to the washroom for his shower.

The washroom was also cramped. Arthur kept his home as clean as possible, but with the cost of living and the cost of his extracurricular enjoyments, he had not the money for extravagance. The walls were cracked with major holes parallel to each other where, one could make the assumption, once had a towel rack. There were two towels in the bathroom itself, folded and placed on the back of the toilet. He slowly pried his tight denim pants off of himself, wincing at the chill. He was surprised not by the fact that he lacked the usual boxers under his trousers, but that he had failed to notice. He pealed off the newly acquired shirt, turning on the water and watching brown-orange water run before it went clear. He sincerely hoped that his son had not yet attempted to wash in the cramped and dingy space.

Arthur stepped into the scalding water, letting the heat sooth the kinks in his neck and back from spending the night on the floor. He groaned as his skin began to feel the burn, his senses awakening from the sensation, and his mind clearing as the steam loosened phlegm in his throat and lungs, along with the residue of smoke. He groaned, rubbing his temples before taking the lonely soap bar from the little shelf and lathered it all over his body.

After his shower, Arthur stepped out of the washroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, clothes in arm. His hair stood up in all directions as Matthew let the tea steep in the steaming water. He walked over to the dresser in the other room, tossing his clothes and towel in the hamper as he threw on a pair of boxers and some sweat-pants, not bothering with a shirt despite the chill. His tattoos danced gracefully along his torso.

Once back in the main room, the quaint sound of humming greeted his ears. He smiled, feeling much more comfortable, leaning against the door-frame and watching the boy pour sugar into the tea. He decided to join in on the second half of the first verse.

"Blackbird singin' in the dead of night. Take these sunken eyes and learn to see, all your life. You were only waiting for this moment to be free." Matthew gasped, turning around abruptly. Arthur's smile held less discomfort now, replacing that with a certain familiar fondness. His voice, although husky from damage caused by his life-style, remained soothing, with a familiar flow that made any listener calm and tranquil, especially young boys at night, waiting for their father to sing them off to a dream land after at least one bedtime story.

"I can't believe you remember." Matthew's face was red, but he chuckled regardless, bringing Arthur his mug.

"How could I forget, Dad? You used to always sing it to us... Especially when it rained or Alfred would watch those ghost movies?" The both shared a knowing smile, before the familiar twinge of loss jolted through. Matthew eyed the ink on his father's torso, foreign to his eyes. Right over his heart lay a simple date of birth and date of death. The interval was a mere nineteen short years.

Matthew attempted to change the subject, with that of a different story. 

"Do you remember the Christmas Eve, when Mom forbade us from going into the kitchen?" Arthur's face broke into a huge grin.

"Well, we _had _caught her precious oven on fire making those cookies..." He chuckled.

"Right..._we_ Dad...we." He laughed along with the man. "So we all stayed in the living room, and you helped us make a fort? We watched half of 'It's A Wonderful Life' before passing out in it." He let out a light chuckle. "I didn't even know how I got into my bed when I woke up that morning. Al either. That was the best Christmas I think I've ever had."

Arthur smiled. "I remember like it was just yesterday..." His eyes glazed over, smile falling as he remembered a different Christmas, a colder one. Matthew caught the haunted glimmer in his father's eyes. He observed silently, having a good idea of what was happening just beneath the surface of those emerald irises.

"Yesterday," He repeated, "all my troubles seemed so far away." He heaved a troubled sigh. "Now it looks as though they're here, to stay." He gave a grim grin, weariness painting his brow. He sighed, releasing the air in an "oh," shaking his head. "I believe in yesterday."

He bit his lower lip, breathing shaky. "Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be..." He confessed, making direct eye-contact with his son. "There's a shadow hanging over me. Oh, yesterday came suddenly." His eyes brimmed with tears as he set his mug on the floor, sitting on the futon, with Matthew following to sit by his side.

Arthur hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, and his face cradled in his hands as grief washed over him. "Why he had to go, I don't know. He wouldn't say." He remembered Alfred leaving the house too cool his head after a particularly wretched fight with Arthur. A fight he could no longer remember even the reasoning behind.

"I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday." He felt the tears streak down his face silently. He tensed at first when the timid, young man wrapped his arms around his father's frame, before relaxing and accepting the comfort, the boy's own tears warm on his neck.

"Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play." His words were whispered, candidly portraying that opening his heart was only painful. "Now I need a place to hide away. Oh I believe in yesterday." With these soft muffled words, some of Matthew's unasked questions were answered. He held his father tighter, rocking him from side to side.

"It's okay. It's not your fault, Dad. He was a hero, remember? And a hero would hate to see his loved ones crying. It's okay." Matthew pet his father's head lightly. He comforted Arthur the best way he knew how, shyly opening his mouth and beginning to sing.

"Blackbird, fly. Blackbird, fly. Into the light or dark black night."


	3. Come Together

**Thank you to all of the responses. There will be an attempt at smut in this chapter. I also tried to change the format a little bit. I'm trying to be better with updates as well. Chapter two of Extra Credit is on it's way. I sincerely hope you enjoy. :3 **

Time went on, Matthew visiting his father regularly. As it so happened, he went to the University several blocks up town, presumably in a nicer part of town. He had his own apartment in the same area, claiming them to be both nice and affordable. Arthur had gotten a key to his apartment, and a phone number.  
>"Any time you just feel like talking, Dad."<br>Arthur found these moments with Matthew humbling, if not incredibly awkward. He enjoyed himself nonetheless though Matthew was always one to initiate contact. He constantly tried to sway Arthur into probably much cleaner activities, no doubt brought upon by Arthur's state from their reunion. Arthur, on the other hand, abhorred the idea of this cleanliness, politely refusing each time.  
>After a month and some days, Arthur found himself pinned under the same lewdness he had become addicted to, grinning with his hands laced behind the Frenchman's neck.<br>"I want you." The man whispered hotly into his ear, teasing the shell. Arthur shivered, clawing lightly down the Parisian's back. "I want you so bad." He bit down harshly on the lobe, sucking and ridding the man of his button-down.  
>"N-no... Francis, I c-can't. I've g-got an appointment with s-someone and- oh..."<br>Francis palmed the man's hardening member through the denim, nipping at his jugular.  
>"I want you," he said once more, passionately. "I want you so bad, it's driving me mad." He attacked the skin don his chest, sucking and licking, and kissing, marking the man as his own. He admired his handy-work, rubbing the man through his clothes.<br>Tempest-blue eyes locked and bore into emerald green, a seductively saccharine smile gracing his devilish features. "It's driving me mad." He repeated.  
>Arthur froze on the spot, feeling his ears flood with heat as his back arched off o the futon. Rational thought evaded him as he forcefully fisted the Parisian's perfect silky locks, grasping hard enough to pull, but not enough to damage.<br>He brought down the man's face for a collision of lips and teeth, and tongue, a silent signal to proceed.  
>An animalistic growl rumbled through Francis' chest while their tongues battled for dominance within the hot, moist cavern of their dueling mouths.<br>Arthur felt his resolve for dominance slipping as Francis slowly undid his trousers, becoming intensely submissive hen warm hands made contact with his need.  
>"Francis!" Arthur whimpered as Francis pulled away, pulling out a special substance from his back pocket, dangling it in Arthur's face. A grin spread across his face as his eyes keyed in on it. Francis got up to get the necessary instruments for the hunger in their veins.<br>Arthur gave a lecherous smirk as the man re-appeared with the equipment.  
>"Here come ol' flat-top, he come grooving up slowly. He got joo-joo eyeball, he's one holy-roller. He's got hair down, to his knees."<br>He held his hands behind the Parisian's head, stroking his log, soft hair and then lowering himself down to his knees in front of the man, looking up at him through thick lashes. He licked his lips.  
>"Got to be a joker, he just do what he please." Francis pet Arthur's head before guiding him to lay o his back beneath him. Arthur groaned, pulling the man down for a heated kiss. Francis responded in kind, pulling Arthur closer in. They clashed with teeth and tongue, separating with a sickly sweet, 'pop!'<br>Arthur bore his eyes into the other's, pressing his lips the Francis' ear, whispering hotly,

"Shoot me," and blowing into it using Francis' own trick against him. He pulled away, gazing into Francis' eyes with a promise behind his own.

"He wear no shoe-shine, he got toe-jam football. He got monkey finger," Arthur purred, "he shoot coca-cola." He winked. "He said-" Francis cut him off, tying a band around his upper arm securely, and letting his hands wander down his sides, exploring the different crevices, nooks, and crannies. He picked up the sentence where he cut Arthur off.

"I know you. You know me. One thing I can tell you, is you got to be free." He pulled the man to straddle his waist, taking out the needle and injecting it into the substance, letting it slurp up into the syringe. "Come together, right now. Over me."

Arthur licked his lips grinding his hips down into the man below him's. He rocked, providing friction between them. He paused in his action as Francis licked the needle, closing his eyes and baring his arm to the man. His heart pounded in anticipation, his breathing heavy until he felt a slight pinch, and then relief spread through. His eyes shot open as the needle was removed along with all other obtrusive articles, leaving him bare and warm and at ease.  
>Francis himself wore only his boxers now, shooting up himself. Arthur took in the curves and crevices, memorizing the look on Francis' face as his head tilted back, eyelashes fluttering, with a slow easy grin making it's way across his face. When Francis was done, Arthur reached out tentatively to stroke the flesh of Francis' throat, whimpering at the electricity that sparked through him. This was all he needed, all he wanted to be.<br>The reaction was immediate as he took his hand away, breaking the contact. They collided instantly, pulling and pushing against each other like currents and waves, lips and tongues clashing desperately, seeking for the depth below the surface, and hands toying and teasing, grasping and kneading, touching, exploring, feeling, and taking.  
>Arthur gasped as slick fingers protruded his entrance, enticing him slowly to lay back, moaning as one slid in to the knuckle, hooking to find that spot, pushing and pulling inside until Arthur cried out, soon another was added, and another, finger-fucking him mercilessly.<br>In Arthur's delirium, he began to mumble more words about the man pleasuring and torturing him. "H-he bag production, he got walrus g-gumboot." He panted and writhed. "H-he g-got, Ono sideboard. He one s-spinal cracker!" He felt a familiar pressure building up. "He got feet down below his knees." His toes curled. "H-hold you in his armchair, you c-can feel his disease!" He came from Francis' fingers alone. He panted face flushed.  
>Francis chuckled, purring a "Come together, right now. Over me." He pealed off his boxers and Arthur eyed the length with want, body shooting through with a new arousal, crawling over him to straddle his hips, lining the man's length with his entrance, and sliding down with his head tossed back, pausing to adjust to the thick girth inside of him.<br>"H-he rollercoaster," he rolled his hips experimentally. "He got early w-warning." Francis placed his hands on Arthur's hips, thrusting up. "He got m-muddy water. He one m-mojo- filter!" He gasped, rose and dropped, riding the man hard with his eyes shut, clawing down his chest. "H-he say, one and one, and one is three." His back arched as his back was found. He punctuated each 'one' with a particularly hard thrust, pounding himself onto that spot while the other writhed and moaned himself whispering sweet French nothings.  
>"G-got to be good looking cause he's so hard t-to see!" He panted, picking up and slamming don with all of his might, Francis assisting as he pulled the man down by his hips and meeting up with his own.<br>"Come t-together, r-right now. Over me!" They pulled and pushed against each other for what felt like a blissful eternity, grinding and clawing, rocking and marking, loving and brutally fucking. They released together, crashing together faster and harder until both were spent and satisfied.

Arthur collapsed on top of the Parisian, panting heavily as Francis' seed dripped out of him. Francis picked up the drained man, pecking the crown of his head, and carrying him to the bedroom for a few hours of rest.


	4. All You Need Is Love

**I'm so sorry it's been so long! I've just been so busy lately! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Extra Credit either, I'll add on to that when I can. Thank you SOOOO MUCH for all who've read what I've written. I'm sorry it's so short too! I own nothing. Reviews are loved, constructive criticism is accepted, flames are pointless because if you don't like something you don't have to read it 3**

Matthew opened the door to the aroma of an unnamed dish that made his mouth water, masking the majority of a musk that he only barely noticed. Normally the scent would be found welcoming, inviting even, but Matthew found himself approaching cautiously. If memory served him well (and he considered himself too young to have it completely fail) his beloved father, although a master at all things tea related was cursed in the way of cooking. He had been banned in their house-hold from anything even remotely cooking-related. Therefore it was no surprise to him that there was a stranger stirring a pot on the stove while a pan simmered with an undistinguished flavor and scent.

That being said, he was quite surprised that this stranger whose backside was displayed proudly to Matthew, wiggling a bit while the owner sang under his breath, seemed to be clad in a frilly pink apron, lavished with elaborate and gaudy lace. Only the apron. Matthew felt his ears burning, blushing heavily. He turned silently to leave without notice, when Francis shot around abruptly to get a utensil.

"Dieu!" The stranger clutched his heart. "Ah! Bonjour! Forgive me, I did not know you were there. I do hope you have not come here to rob the place; I can assure you that there is close to nothing of value here though you are welcome to stay for dinner, I'm sure." He gave a charismatic wink turning back around to the pot on the stove.

"Oh, no. Um... My name is Matthew," he looked away from the man's posterior, bracing himself before murmuring a shy, "I'm Arthur's son." Francis whipped around staring with wide eyes.

"Arthur's petit-fils? His son?" A wide grin made it's way across his face. "Ah, oui. You have his nose." Matthew felt himself blushing once again. "And his blush~" Francis chuckled, dropping a fork and bending over to pick it up. Matthew averted his eyes quickly, not wanting to see more than he already had.  
>"And um... Who are you?" He questioned, feeling incredibly awkward.<p>

"I am Francis, your Papa's extraordinary lover~" He put the finishing touches on dinner, and gave a flowery and foppish smile.

"His lover?" Matthew blinked rapidly, head spinning slightly. He did suppose it made sense though. "I was unaware that he had one. I'm sorry." Francis clutched his heart dramatically, supporting himself on the counter.

"He never mentioned me? He did not brag or profess his undying love for me, or show off the glorious marks of lovemaking or anything? Oh! My poor heart!" A tear made it's way down his face as he flamboyantly paraded around the small kitchen area.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. Francis sighed, seeing his theatrics were lost on the boy for now. He smiled.

"It is of no consequence for now." He bounced back quickly. "I will simply continue spreading love! After all, there's nothing you can do that can't be done. Nothing you can sing that can't be sung. Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game, it's easy!" He beamed, ready to teach the youth of the ways of love. Matthew concentrated, searching to find what his father had apparently seen in this flamboyant French pouf. He had to admit after the initial awkward feeling had been gotten used to, it was hard not to smile at the man's gallivanting.

"There's nothing you can make that can't be made." He gestured around wildly. "No one you can save that can't be saved. "Matthew's heart clenched, while he thought of Alfred, and then thought of saving Arthur.

"Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time. It's easy!" He set the table/counter certain that a certain grumpy brit would stir and grace them with his presence shortly.

"All you need is love, all you need is love." He ruffled the boy's hair. Matthew felt uncomfortable, but let the words sink in. "All you need is love, love, love is all you need." He pulled out the chair for the lad. Matthew was beginning to understand what perhaps Francis understood. The kind of healing his father needed and Matthew planned on bringing the love truly back.


End file.
